Cow Hollow (new revision)

A warm glow filled the far horizon as the sunrise stretched long arms through mist and trees. Tall, dark silhouettes of oak and maple stood in stark, silent disparity to the magnificent orange light growing behind them. Addison could feel the cool morning air envelope him and drew a deep breath taking in the sweet, musty smell of a dew covered forest. A sparrow began its morning report from a nearby branch as a distant movement between two slender birch trees caught his eye. Instinctively, he reached for his musket; it wasn’t there. Stepping closer to the nearest oak, he watched intently. Though still fifty yards in the distance, he judged the shadowed figure to be near five and a half feet tall and slender in form. He wondered if he should alert the camp, more could be coming, but he decided to watch and wait.

The shadow moved gracefully amongst the trees without purpose, but steadily closer and still no signs of others. Watching intently with bated breath, Addison soon made out the mysterious specter’s clothing. The interloper appeared to be wearing a long, flowing gown, nearly transparent against the piercing rays of the rising sun. The outlined figure was very feminine in nature, but what on God’s green earth was a woman doing out here, especially at this hour? Perhaps she lived at a local farmhouse and was just out for a morning stroll, he thought. Stepping to leave the cover of the tree, he heard her soft humming and his heart nearly stopped. This could not be, he thought; it was a happy melody his wife would often sing. It even sounded like her voice. He stood frozen between what he longed to be true, yet knew was impossible. She’d now covered half the distance between them and he strained to make out her features in the blooming morning light.

Soft, wavy blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like a drawn veil catching sunlight, donning it like an intricate golden head-dress. When she turned her head to the side he noticed a familiar small, round nose and slight lip line. The moment she turned back, the sun broke over the horizon to highlight her features in an angelic glow, as he thought was only fitting. Her face now in full view, there could be no mistake. His heart leapt in his chest like a thoroughbred jumping through the gate. Their eyes met and she spoke, “Addie. Come home with me,”

Feet breaking loose from where they’d taken root amongst a thick layer of wet, fallen leaves and rich, moist Virginia soil, he ran so hard it seemed he was flying, but something was wrong; the gap between them remained. He pushed harder, lungs burning, getting no closer than before. She reached for him with fear in her sparkling blue eyes, “Addie! Addie! Addie!” Then the world sifted away like beach sand in a stiff wind…

…”Addie! Wake up!” A hand shook his shoulder as he cracked an eyelid. Gone was the peaceful forest, the shifting morning mist, and worst of all, his lovely wife, all replaced by the square set jaw and wild green eyes of ‘Boots’ McMillan. Recognizing the look in his eye, he rolled with a sigh to resume his much needed slumber.

“Go away, Boots. Whatever you’re scheming, leave me out of it.” Pulling his Union cap over his eyes, he shifted the makeshift haversack pillow and gave a dismissive wave; un-thwarted, Boots remained.

“Come on, Addie, we ain’t none of us had a decent meal in days ‘n see there’s this farmer what brings his cow fer a lick at his well every night ‘n some of us fellers was gonna run him off ‘n commandore his livestock to ‘aid the Union war efforts!’ Trouble is, we don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout heardin’ no cows, so we need all the help we can get!” Boots sat back on his heels, removed his cap, and wiped away the glistening sweat from his brow. “Sides,” he continued, “we’re in south territree now, so that makes it ok, right Addie?”

Addison heaved another sigh and rolled onto his back. Clearly Boots would lend him no rest. He wished he could have gone home with his wife, leaving his slumbering body lying against this tree till the end of the war. Lifting the brim of his hat, he looked boots in the eye, “First of all, Boots, the word is “commandeer”, second of all, there is no herding involved with one stinkin cow, and thirdly, that poor farmer is not a soldier, not part of the war, and needs that cow to feed his family. Just leave it be! Our rations will come soon enough!” Addison held the other man’s gaze.

Boots simply blinked and said with a hint of pleading his eyes, “Well…we’s still awful hungry ‘n ‘sides, we can leave him some steaks…”

Addison stared in disbelief, “That’s truly generous of you, Boots, but if you’re lookin’ for permission, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.” Boots hung his head like a scolded dog. “But I guess someone ought to witness this farce for the inevitable court marshal.” Rising, he righted his cap and brushed some leaves off his trousers.

Boots sprang to his feet, lit up and ready for action. “I knew I could count on you, Addie!” Boots clapped a big arm around his shoulder and gave a hearty squeeze, “Old Gus said you’d never go for it, but I know’d better!”

“Old Gus; should’ve known. This just keeps getting better.” Old Gus was a stubborn goat who followed the camp hoping to see one last hoorah before taking his final dirt nap. He was too old to enlist, but too obstinate to get rid of. The commanding officers had tried to run him off, but he’d turn up amongst the ranks a day or two later. Since he wasn’t any trouble and didn’t get in the way, they finally gave up and let him come along for the ride. He even carried his own musket, which dated pre-revolution and it still looked younger than him! Shaking his head, Addison followed Boots toward the other side of camp. “And for the record, Boots,” he shouted, “I’m not ‘going’ for anything other than observation!”

A small group of men huddled around a crude sketch in the dirt. A man holding a stick spoke in hushed tones while the others watched intently, periodically nodding in agreement. The one with the stick was the quartermaster’s man, Shivers, or Shivs, for short. He never did any actual cooking, he mostly served and scrubbed, but you could tell he sure took eating seriously. He wasn’t an enlisted man, but one of the volunteers who, along with aiding the quartermaster, assisted with other odds and ends around the camp. Rumor was, he was quite the handyman, though he’d never brag about it. The rest of the group was comprised of the company screwballs. As Addison approached earshot they were drawing straws on who would clean and dress the animal for the quartermaster.

“Jimmy, that’s when you grab ‘eem, put the sack over his head, knock ‘eem clean out cold, and tie ‘eem up in the barn.” Shivers, the man with the stick, held Jimmy’s gaze momentarily before Jimmy stared down at the dirt in puzzlement. Shivs glanced up at Addison with a look of bewilderment, asking Boots, “How in the world did you get ‘eem to…”

“He’s just here to observerate.” Boots interrupted, giving an exaggerated wink as he squatted next to Jimmy who was still puzzling over his part in the plan.

Addison rolled his eyes, “The word is observate!” Wincing at his mistake he smashed his fist into his forehead, “Ob - serve.” he carefully enunciated, “Dammit! I should still be asleep!”

Looking at Addison, Shivs said to Boots, “Told you not to wake ‘eem.” Then, with a shrug, he turned his attention to the perplexed Jimmy. “Now, Jim, when you tie ‘eem up, you wanna use a -”

“But Shivs, what do I knock him out with?” Jimmy asked with such innocence that everyone simply stared in silence. Shivs reached out and smacked him in the head with the stick he’d been holding, and then threw it down at Jimmy’s feet. Rubbing his head and checking for blood, he picked up the stick. Examining it closely, he smiled and nodded at Shivs in agreement. That’s when Old Gus, who’d sat silently next to Jimmy, cracked a wide toothless grin, then wheezed out a chuckle, which tumbled into hysterical laughter. This avalanched through the group leaving them with wet cheeks and gasping for air.

After another dinner of split rations and weak coffee, Shivs made his final coffee round giving each man in his special operation a nod and wink, in signal to meet at the edge of the nearby cornfield at dusk. Each man returned the signal as they raised their cup for a fill. Addison rose to his feet, stretching his back. Noticing the fires growing brighter and the sky dimmer, he embarked on a slow stroll toward the edge of camp observing the men in his company along the way. Henry Carpenter, from Lansing, stooped on a stump, pulling out his harmonica. He began playing a soft hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Thomas Barker, of Maple Grove, stretched out on a patch of grass to read a letter from home. After struggling to see which was better, firelight or the tangerine glow tracing the fading horizon, his eyes eagerly scanned the page. Addison watched long enough to see the man shake with chuckles and tears before moving along. Passing the officers tent, he saw Major Cutcheon, a Yipsilanti man, looking over field reports and studying a map. Addison wondered where they’d march to next. Wherever it was, he hoped there were tents and rations waiting for them when they got there. The combination of hunger and sleeping in the elements was starting to put everyone on edge. Stopping at the edge of camp, he pulled his pipe and a small pouch of tobacco from his breast pocket. Staring off at the graying horizon he filled the bowl of his pipe, packing it in tight. Lighting it with a few quick puffs of thick, white smoke, he contemplated what the next few months might bring. His thoughts plumed and curled around his head before disappearing into the night air. He wondered how many of those men would be amongst the ranks on the march home. He then wondered if he would be amongst the ranks who’d be marching home. Imagining the reaction of his dear wife and children, a somber tear streaked down his cheek, wetting his thick, black beard. Before he could wipe it away, a large hand clapped his shoulder so hard he nearly dropped his pipe from between his teeth.

“C’mon, Addie, it’s time!” With Boots’ hand still on his shoulder, Addison was steered toward the corn field in the near distance. He could see the silhouettes of the rest of the group, six in all; apparently that’s the number required to capture one lone cow. Addison shook his head. If nothing else, he hoped this would be entertaining.

Shivs was already instructing the rest of the group, “Everyone remembers the plan, right? We surround ‘em, Jimmy cracks the old man in the head with his stick,” Jimmy rubbed his head at this painful reminder as Old Gus gave another wheezy chuckle. “And that’s when we all close in on the cow before she runs. Oscar, you’ll shoot her from the north side and Norman, you’ll shoot her from the east side.”

Addison rolled his eyes in disbelief, “They’ll be lucky not to shoot each other! Neither one of ‘em can hit the broad side of a barn at high noon, much less a black and white cow in the dark!” Receiving menacing glares from six sets of eyes, Addison gave a dismissive shrug and motioned them on.

“While Jimmy’s tyin up the farmer in the barn,” Shivs continued, “the rest of us’ll be guttin ‘n cuttin’. Any questions?” Shivs looked to each of them. When his gaze landed on Jimmy, he sheepishly raised his hand. “Cut it out, Jimmy, yer not in school ya damned fool! What is it?”

“Tell me again why we hafta tie him up?” Shivs reared with frustration and Jimmy raised his hands to head defensively. Shivs calmed himself with a long, deep breath.

“WE ain’t tyin ‘eem up, YOU are and it don’t matter as ta why, just do it you mule headed pea brain! Any OTHER questions?”

Ashamed as a boy who’d just peed himself, Jimmy shook his head and gave a nearly inaudible reply, “No.”

“Good. Now let’s get movin!”

Addison watched the group march, as if into a real battle, toward the small farmhouse across the nearby road. Then one of them pulled out a small Union flag while another started tapping cadence on his thigh. Addison knew this would be too good to pass up. He set off in the direction of the gulch where the little farm lay, with the occasional wisp of smoke drifting up from his pipe, still clutched firmly between his lips.

In the calm of the night, which had become quite dark, the slight dwelling appeared somewhat lonely and isolated. Addison stood on a knoll overlooking the property. He smirked as he made out the distant muted figure of Shivs motioning ‘his men’ into position around the unsuspecting farmer’s humble homestead. Addison felt sorry for the man. He likely had sons who’d already run off to fight for Lee and “states’ rats”, or as it was pronounced in the north, states’ rights. So, he was left to farm his land and make due on his own, not knowing if his sons would ever return to aid in the revival of his suffering livelihood. Moments after the last of the attack party had slipped into place, as if on cue, the farmer exited his front door buttoning trousers and looping suspenders over his shoulders. He made his way toward the barn. Judging by the slight waddle in his stride, his wife was a good cook. Addison wondered if, perhaps, they should abduct her instead of the cow. After a short moment in the barn, they emerged together and embarked their traditional journey across the gulch to the stone well on the opposite hillside. Addison glanced at Shivs who was frantically motioning Jimmy to wait. After a quick look in Jimmy’s direction, he clearly missed the message and thus began the battle of Cow Hollow.

With the farmer still twenty yards from the well, Jimmy was running toward him full tilt, stick held high. Oddly, when the farmer turned to face his attacker, Jimmy released what sounded like a Rebel yell. Without missing a beat, the aged farmer calmly sidestepped the crazed intruder and extended a foot. Jimmy went sprawling at the cow’s feet who didn’t look disturbed by the incident in the least. Unfortunately for Jimmy, he was at the business end of the cow, who, much to his disdain, promptly conducted said business. As Jimmy scrambled out from under the bovine’s raised tail, the farmer disappeared into the barn, then darted out, pitchfork in hand. Wiping a clod of dung from his eye and scuttling to his feet, Jimmy saw the farmer charging with his pitchfork at chest level and turned tail toward a small stand of nearby trees, retreat hastier than his attack. That’s when a shot rang out from the dark. What followed could only be described as pandemonium.

Shivs was shaking his fists in silent rage. Jimmy had reached the nearest tree (sapling) and began climbing frantically. The cow jolted, racing straight toward camp which drew fire from both Oscar and Norman simultaneously. Boots was closing the gap between him and the farmer, who had hit the dirt at the first shot, and Old Gus had hit his knees suffocating from laughter. Apparently Gus had tagged along for the same reason as Addison. The travesty didn’t end there. The cow, in a dead run toward camp, passed Addison without notice, charging through camp and anything in its path along the way, including the officer’s tent. Oscar and Norman, sights set solely on their target, had reloaded while chasing the cow and periodically knelt to fire. Back at the farmhouse the farmer had reclaimed his pitchfork and was chasing a very scared Boots off into the dark of night. That’s when Addison also noticed the farmer’s wife who was now standing at the front door in her frilly night dress, cap, and slippers with a musket in her hands looking for anything worth firing at. Luckily glaucoma had robbed her of her night vision. Addison decided it was time to make his way back to camp before anyone suspected he had something to do with this fiasco.

The camp was a perfect picture of chaos. Men were scrambling to arms; Colonel Williams was barking orders as Lt. Colonel Smith and Major Cutcheon emerged from the disheveled tent the cow had made short work of laying to ruin. Rumors of surrounding enemy troops were flaring through the camp like wildfire and a bugle was sounding the command to assemble ranks. Meanwhile, a few dozen more men had taken to chasing the terrified cow filling the night with thunder and flashes of musket fire. Shivs trudged by, a big round bundle of aggravated disbelief, muttering something to himself about best laid plans gone to waste and bungling idiots. He reached the Colonel and immediately began confessing his blunder. Even in the dim, dancing orange light of nearby fires he saw the Colonel’s face turn seven shades of red as Shivs, now near tears, carefully outlined his picture perfect plan and how it went awry. That’s when a winded Boots appeared at Addison’s side.

“Whooohooooo! Addie, did ya see me tear into that farmer! He’ll think twice afore messin’ with a yank agin, won’t he!” The look on Boots’ face was nearly convincing.

“I reckon he will, Boots; I reckon he will.” Addison replied with a smirk.

Boots’ cheer caught the Colonel’s eye and he stopped Shivs in mid sentence, who was now all but pleading for his life, and started shouting orders for the men to stand down explaining it was a false alarm, without much affect at this point. He leveled his gaze at Shivs. “I’ll deal with you in the morning! As for any other involved parties,” his gaze was now scanning everyone who’d stopped to listen, “they’d better be front and center in ten minutes!” A frozen crowed of faces began looking to one another wondering who, exactly, was involved in this muddle. “Dismissed!” Colonel Williams spun on his left heel, turning to his second and third in command. After a few hushed words, the three moved away from the crowd for a more private conversation.

Turning to round up the group before they caused the Colonel any further reason to send them straight to the front lines, Addison heard a disturbing sound, marching; hundreds, maybe thousands of men. The question was, who’s men? That question was soon answered by a frantic and winded rider who dismounted his still running horse, with surprising grace, near the Colonel.

“Colonel Williams, sir!”

“Who are you, son!”

“Private Fisher, sir, sent from Fort Lyon! We heard the battle and reinforcements are on their way! Five thousand from Fort Lyon are approaching and five thousand more are on their way from Fort Wood! Both forts’ guns are drawn and we are prepared to offer any assistance required, sir! I am ordered to bring back report of damages and casualties!” Colonel Williams looked, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words. Just then, Jimmy emerged from the smoky outskirts of camp at quick stroll, looking over his shoulder in fits of paranoia. As he walked by the Colonel and his group, the Colonel grabbed his arm. Jimmy looked like a rabbit cornered by a bobcat.

“Report, soldier! Did you at least kill the cow?”

“N—no, sir. She got away.” Jimmy stood stone still under the Colonel’s silent appraisal.

“Dismissed!”

“Y--yes, sir!” Jimmy made a dogged retreat, blending into the surrounding confusion.

“Cow, sir?” The messenger inquired.

“Nevermind, tell your commanding officers to stand down, there’s no battle in Cow Hollow.” After a passive dismissal to the confused messenger, the Colonel issued some hushed orders to his officers who immediately mounted horses and proceeded to reign in the ensuing chaos.

Realizing his pipe had gone cold, Addison tapped the ashes out against the sole of his boot and returned it to his shirt pocket. Jimmy reappeared next to Addison, “Addie?”

“What is it, Jimmy?”

“I done lost my stick.”